


The Minotaur's Child

by Rubynye



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology
Genre: Bestiality, F/F, F/M, Large Cock, Minoan, Pregnancy, Stomach Bulge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-25 23:43:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14389590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubynye/pseuds/Rubynye
Summary: No one cherishes Him as they ought, but for her.





	The Minotaur's Child

**Author's Note:**

  * For [praxyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/praxyn/gifts).



> Hallo Praxyn! I was looking through the requests and yours grabbed me. I hope you enjoy this little thing!

No one cherishes Him as they ought, not since the moon called His mother home. Prie does what she can, trailing her fingers along the guiding thread strung through the dug-out paths beneath the Palace, stumbling through the dark over uneven rocks and broken crockery towards the maze where the King holds Him imprisoned. Her face draws into an unseen snarl she cannot show in the light, as she thinks of her Lady Pasiphae’s other children and their eagerness to forget their imprisoned brother, locked away and forgotten. Ariadne holds her bead-crowned head high, her mother’s little likeness, a proud beauty coming into her prime; Phaedra runs and plays in childhood joy, the Palace’s cosseted darling. And neither girl ever asks after or wonders upon, let alone comes to succor, their mother’s son held down in the darkness.

Only Prie comes to see Him, besides the ceremonial deliveries of victims. Only Prie follows the long-strung thread through the darkness, rough under her fingertips as she remembers her bright Lady His Mother. When the sunlit Court mentions Him, they whisper behind their hands, calling Him a monster, an aberration, a demon. Truly He devours youths and maidens, but He’s half and more a god, should He eat bread and cheese like a man? 

The darkness opens to light in Prie’s memory, as she attended Pasiphae in Her resplendent nudity, helping Her into Daidalos’ constructed cow to be mounted by Poseidon’s most beautiful bull. Prie remembers her Lady’s ecstatic wails, transmuted by the brazen cow into deep lowing, resonant in Prie’s ears as she kept watch, slick with echoes of desire between her shivering thighs. She remembers the mighty bull’s climactic bellows, the trembling of his crisp-curled forelock and dangling dewlaps, his satiated huffing as he eased from the model cow’s back, his calm plod and how he paused to snuffle Prie’s hair before returning to his pen and his trough and his eventual sacrifice. 

A thin light frames the hidden door. Prie takes a deep breath, rich with bull’s musk, and eases it open, stepping from memory into the present.

She shuts it behind her before she ventures into the Labyrinth proper, its high sand-colored walls lit by round openings in the ceiling. Now she unhooks the red thread from her waist and uncoils it along the wall, pressing it into fissures between the stones as she goes. It would not do even for her to become lost in His maze. 

For now she sees no present sign of Him, just the occasional tuft of old fur or a neat stack of dry grey bones. She sees a thinking mind in these stacks, though the people of the Court call Him a mindless monster when they mention Him at all. As she treads the sandy, curving pathways she thinks too, upon the present set of Athenians arrived yestereve, upon their leader Theseus the King’s Son, his bare-chested beauty and bronze-sheened hair, how all the Court swooned to see him disembark and how Ariadne’s kohl-rimmed eyes lit hungrily upon him. He’s not one to go meekly as anyone’s supper, even a god’s.

Prie thinks upon Theseus with helpless awe and heartfelt worry, and wishes she could warn her charge of His present enemy, speak to Him with her lacking human tongue. But all she can do, as she reaches Pasiphae’s Well in the center of the maze, as she finds Him curled at rest in a golden shaft of sunlight, is settle beside Him and draw her fingertips along the curves of His horns and through the crisp curls upon His brow. All she can do is visit Him as a prisoner needs and all alone adore Him as a god deserves.

He snorts and lows and shifts beneath her hand, opening round bovine eyes, liquid black beneath deep lids. He turns and rolls towards her, uncurling His mighty body, built like a man’s but taller, stronger, thicker with muscle as befits a god. She smiles to Him as she strokes His resilient muzzle and He gently lips her fingers, puffing sweet milky breath despite His charnel diet. How could He be else but divine?

Groaning low, He reaches for her, hands broad enough to almost span her upper arms. Crooning to Him, she unbuckles her girdle and drops her skirt, lifts off her shift, presents herself bare as Pasiphae before the holy bull. Prie’s no longer young as she was when she served her Queen, but her softened breasts prickle with memory, her loosened skin catches fire as His rough-palmed hands rub along her body, arms and sides, hips and thighs. His phallos twitches as she reaches to It, firming and lengthening in her hold to nearly match her forearm, swelling till her fingers can scarcely encircle Its plush heat. Thinking of her shining Lady, daughter of the Sun, Prie swings her creaking.hip wide across Her Son’s thick thighs, air swirling like a kiss amidst her dampening folds sas she prepares to mount Him and ride Him to glorious pleasure.

He huffs and moans low, deep noise resonating in His deep chest as she rubs her hands through His thick pelt, across powerful swells of muscle and the deep thud of heartbeat. Prie leans forward, the fully risen phallos denting her belly from the outside as It shall soon from within, and meets His eyes, liquid-dark, widely set each side of His bull’s head.

Broad lip out curving, he exhales a soft bellow. Broad hands closing and pressing on her soft hips, He lifts her forward, and she further parts her legs and lands upon her knees, fingers closing in His hair as she opens herself to Him.

It hurts. The first inrush of the divine always hurts, whether it was Pasiphae’s nude jeweled beauty piercing Prie’s young heart, whether it is now the thick press of His blunt phallos as she trembles in balance, letting her own weight slowly impale her.

He is not old or young, He is more than half a god, He snorts impatience, nostrils flaring, locks His hands around her waist and pulls Prie down, slamming up into her, their bodies slapping flush. It hurts gloriously, piercing and filling her all at once, and Prie throws her head back, screaming her impassioned delight to the labyrinth’s roof and the sky beyond.

This is the moment Prie lives for, the transcendence, the release. All her years of service, of secrets, of smiling over a bitter heart, but at this time she can worship her god, she can be free.

And she can take pleasure in His, as he rumbles in delight and curves His mighty hands upon her thighs and clenches His strong buttocks below them, thrusting up within her again and again so her whole small form flies in His gallop. Her loosed breasts bounce, her belly quivers tautly, her thighs sting sweetly with each collision. And within her, oh within her, the column of fire and aching ecstasy. Prie knots her fingers in long coarse hair and lets her head roll on her neck as she turns her squeezed-shut eyes to the sky and screams and screams and screams.

His hands clamp tighter upon her thighs, sweetly branding her skin, fierce wind jetting from His nose as He bellows and bucks, riding her up into the sky, as the Sunlight pours across her face in molten golden light, as the ecstasy billows and breaks all through her in mingling waves of burning joy. 

And Prie feels and delights and _screams_.

She returns to herself halfway through her fall, His phallos tugging-sliding from her twinging body, her nether lips glowing with their pummeling and stretching as she tumbles sideways and rolls off her Minotaur. Reaching up with the last of her shuddering strength she grips His near horn, and He curves his thick-muscled arm beneath her unstrung back, pulling her to the warm pelt along His side, huffing milk-sweet breaths over her heated face for her to drink in. She gasps, breasts and belly and thighs dragging sparking-sore across rough hair, and breathes, and smiles to her god.

At length His grip slackens as He dozes again, asleep in His grandfather’s sunlight. At length Prie sits herself up, laying her hand once more above the thud of His heart, the air swirling softly around them. She must return soon, certainly before the evening songs. Her mouth is sticky-dry with screams and she should drink from the well before she dresses and goes. But first she looks down at her belly, at the soft stripe of reddened skin where His phallos pressed her taut all the way up behind her navel, and she looks down at the whole mighty length of Him and hopes fruitlessly that His strength can prevail against the Athenian’s cunning.

For a little while more Prie sits with her god.

** * **

The world is tumbled down. Poseidon has shaken the earth at His son Theseus’ behest, bringing down the Palace upon the King’s head as Theseus brought down the Minotaur and broke open the Labyrinth. All around its hilltop, the everlasting House of the Ax lies in piles of stone and shattered wood, fires billowing smoke into the sky, the once-proud Court crying and weeping as they lie dying in the wreck of all they knew or run for their lives from the disaster.

Theseus leads his Athenians away with all their booty and the Princess Ariadne. Fleeing court ladies shelter Phaedra among them. All alone, Prie stumbles from the shattered Palace with nothing but the dress and skirt on her body and the child within her womb. She skids down the steepened hillside, tear-blind, her memory full of the sight of her blank-eyed Minotaur’s severed head held aloft in Theseus’s triumphant grasp, dangled from those crisp curls she so often played her fingers through. A root gropes her ankle, sending her rolling down a bruising way, and when she catches herself against a boulder she raises her streaming eyes to the blazing, ruined Palace where all she’s known lies buried.

Then she lifts herself from the tumbled earth and sets her feet once more. She is not young but beneath her belt she carries the last fragment of godhood, her Minotaur’s child, and ahead of her lies the rippling sea and the future.


End file.
